


Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

by Chess_Blackfyre



Category: Marvel, Marvel's Avengers (Video Game), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Identity Issues, Light Angst, Monica Rappaccini's A+ Treatment of Her Clones, Protective Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chess_Blackfyre/pseuds/Chess_Blackfyre
Summary: “I am so lonely. I don’t need something so trite or squalid as companionship. What I need is the one thing I cannot have, someone I can depend on. I’m so tired of doing this alone. I just need there to be more of me.”  —Personal Log of Dr. Monica Rappaccini“Ah Ms.Marvel, this is Carmilla Black, the newest member of the Resistance.”“A pleasure.” There was a niggling sense of familiarity as Kamala shook the other girl’s hand. This close, she couldn’t help but notice Carmilla’s mismatched blue and brown eyes. Neat.
Relationships: Kamala Khan & Carmilla Black
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Exactly What I Needed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26622340) by [curlsandblueyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlsandblueyes/pseuds/curlsandblueyes). 



Dr. Monica Rappacini stood before the growth chamber, her mind that mix of rapt attention and cool detachment so familiar to the scientist. It was an imposing thing, ten feet tall with a circumference of six feet, filled with a blue, almost clear liquid. That liquid was a special chemical mixture of her own design. A large space for such a small inhabitant, but she would grow into it in due time.

“Fertilized less than a week ago, the embryo is now at the equivalent of seven weeks of development, which is consistent with previous clones.” Seated next to Monica at a console was Beatrice, the first successful clone and now head of the cloning experiments. She continued her audio log. “Today we will be initiating the genetic editing on TE-07 as part of the human enhancement project.” They would start by plucking out minor annoyances like the Rappaccini’s genetic predisposition to certain cancers. Then would come the more impressive additions.

Beatrice paused the recording and turned to Monica, the scientist taking her time to finish up her own notes before giving the clone her attention. “Yes.”

“I still don't see why you insist on using our DNA, instead of Masters’ or Blonsky’s. We are scientists, not soldiers.”

Monica raised an eyebrow. Her through processes and decisions were usually innately understood by the clones. Allowing her genius to address multiple projects at once was half the point of cloning herself. Perhaps Beatrice needed to work on other projects. The doctor filed that away for later.

“And that is how we demonstrate the effectiveness of the psi training program. And as it is _my_ DNA and my money funding this project,” she reminded, “that makes it my decision. Any more questions?”

There was not. Beatrice quietly turned back to the console, accepting Monica’s logic as she always did.

“Where are we on finding a template for physical conditioning?”

“Unfortunately, the Red Room ended up being a dead end--too paranoid to be worth the effort. Besides, I’ve discovered that training begins in childhood, and we wouldn't want those formative memories tainted by outside experience.”

A hum of acknowledgement as Beatrice began to work. TE-07’s vitals remained steady, a good sign. While genetic expression was much easier to manipulate in an embryo, the tradeoff was subjects being more fragile. But Monica had already harvested plenty of eggs and had DNA to spare, so every failure was simply an opportunity to learn and improve.

As the process took hours, Monica closed the notes app on her tablet and began sorting through emails. Various reports from accounting, PR, and Internal Affairs all mixed in with the R&D updates she’d prefer to focus on. But she didn't become COO of the biggest international corporations by ignoring what she disliked.

“I’m going to need you to fill in during the board meeting next week,” Monica informed. “There’s interesting data here from the gamma research projects that I’ll need time to review.”

“Sounds interesting, I’ll have to check it out later.”

“No need, your attention is better spent on this.”

No hum this time as Beatrice seemed to be engrossed in her work. Monica almost envied her, as she’d gotten bored with doing the genetic alterations herself months ago. She pulled up the expense report the clone had submitted, and cross checked it against banking statements from the account she’d set up for the clones.

That was when a chime sounded, and the vital signs went red.

“What’s happening?”

“The same problem I ran into with the others--abnormal cell replication. By introducing those long stretches of new DNA, the cells are now almost almost refusing to divide properly.” A small frustrated huff. “I thought I’d finally gotten a way to prevent that.”

That was inconvenient. “Deploy the regenerative formula.” It was already effective at delaying and stopping cellular death when the Inhumans were exposed to DARK Terrigen. If it didn't work, it was dying anyway. They would simply move onto TE-08.

As it should be, Beatrice acted as soon as Monica spoke. The dark red of the formula mixed with the light blue of the growth chamber. A minute passed. Another. The scientist watched the formula swirl and dissipate, absorbed into the embryonic cells.

Another chime. “Biometrics are stabilizing,” Beatrice noted with the familiar pleased lilt to her voice , “and cell division is normalizing. And if things remain stable--”

“--then cell function and division should remain normal, although we should still monitor for potential defects.” This one was a fighter. Good.

Beatrice had a tight expression. It seemed she didn't like being interrupted anymore than her progenitor. “I’ll monitor personally for the next few hours.”

Content that the situation was handled, Monica turned and walked away. With a private jet ready and waiting, she would be back in the New York office in a few hours with George none the wiser. 

As she exited the black site lab, the doctor couldn't help but think how poetic it was, Captain Rogers’ blood saving the life of the one who would surpass him.

* * *

He was warm again. He was always so, so cold. He liked it when it was warm.

“She’s going to call her Thasanee,” she said. That familiar voice, the one he knew but could not name. The familiar pricks, pain distant but present. 

“Developmentally she’s prepubescent and is already displaying some of the adaptations. I’ll admit, it’s actually quite fascinating. The absorptive cilia in her trachea, the nictitating membrane on her eyes--and that’s just what’s shown up so far. I can see why Monica’s so focused on it. But it won’t last.” She sounds...happy about that. It’s strange.

“Three months, six months, the luster will wear off, and she’ll be just another clone.”

The words were slippery, hard to grasp. He couldn’t understand. He never did.

All he knew was cold, warm, voice, pain, cold again. Over and over and over again, constant yet strange.

“Although, I do have to thank you. Without you or your blood, she wouldn’t even be here. Perhaps you’ll even get to meet her, when she’s relegated to blood collection duty.”

The voice went away not long after, taking the pain away. But they took the warmth with them. The cold returned, as it always did, and he disappeared again.

* * *

When Monica opened her eyes, the world had a distant, almost unreal quality to it. Like she had awoken to a dream instead of from one.

She was suspended in liquid, one that filled her nose, her ears, stung her eyes. But she did not drown. There were two people she could see on the other side of the glass. Neither was paying attention to her.

“--it’s the _Avengers,_ the adaptoids won’t be able to hold them off forever.”

“0-7 hasn’t reached full physical maturity yet, not to mention the amount of psi-training that still needs to be completed!”

“Well either we remove her now, or we flush six months of work down the drain.”

Words words words. Words she heard but did not understand.

She knew who spoke them though; Doctors Julia and Timothy Kean. Two of the most groundbreaking scientists in the field of genetic manipulation who were now assigned to the blacklist Project:Waker. Married to each other, which was an excellent source of emotional leverage if the need ever arose.

Her body felt—wrong. It ached and throbbed and Monica couldn’t understand _why_. Her head was filled with cotton, thoughts wandering where they may.

_Dislocated wrist - eight pounds of pressure per square inch._

_Saphenous nerve cluster - largest cutaneous branch of the femoral nerve. Three pounds of pressure per square inch to inflict pain and inhibit movement_

_Carotid artery - six pounds of pressure prevents blood flow to the brain. Twelve seconds to unconsciousness, approximately forty seconds to induce permanent brain damage. Three to four minutes until death._

The doctors Kean stopped arguing. Julia Kean moved to the console in front of the growth chamber. Something changed--

“We’ll need to sedate her.”

What? A drowsiness started to overtake her again, a siren’s call to return to the comfortable sleep she’d just awoken from.

No. She was Monica Rappaccini, she was the one in charge here. She could have these people killed--she would when she got out of there. 

Her movements were getting slower. Her mind all the more sluggish. No. Had to stay awake. Had to stop it.

Eyes she could barely keep open spotted the IV in her arm. Clumsy fingers ripped it out, the pain giving her a jolt of energy. The fog was starting to lift as her wound stung, the blood mixing with the liquid in the growth chamber.

“What is she--”

Monica banged her fist on the thick, bullet-proof glass, enjoying the fear in their eyes. It hurt. But the pain was good. The pain kept her awake. Kept her focused.

The Keans stared.

“Let her out.”

“Julia--”

“Drain the chamber. We need to move her now.” Hm. Good, one of them seemed to have sense. She’ll make their deaths quick then.

In less than a minute, the chamber was drained, and the glass rose. She lowered (fell) down onto the floor below. With shaky steps, the scientist rose on unsteady feet, the floor slick under her and her legs only cooperating with force. Monica opened her mouth to demand an explanation, and felt a prick in her arm.

The syringe in her hand was a mockery to everything Monica was. She felt it. The darkness was coming again, and what little strength she had left gave out. 

Timothy Kean caught her, gathering her up into a fireman’s carry. “I’m sorry. But we have to move now.”

Indignation and fear rippled through her mind as the world went dark once more.

* * *

Beatrice gave a mental sigh of relief. The reports had finally just got to her; TE-07 was secured and in transit, all scientists of Project: Waker had evacuated and all servers left on site had been scrubbed clean before being destroyed for good measure.

The Avengers probably had no idea what they’d stumbled onto, but that wasn’t any reason to let their guard down. So when they’d attacked Meridian to retrieve a Pym particle, AIM had ensured they couldn’t find the real asset the weapons facility was guarding: Dr. Rappaccini’s cloning facilities. Located in a secure sub-basement, most who worked at the facility didn’t even know of the lab’s existence. After all, Dr. Rappaccini had to hide her personal projects from even those with top level AIM clearance. Like, say, the company co-founder with technomancy powers and an incessant hatred of superhumans that was starting to border on the fanatical. Beatrice blamed the brain tumors for that one.

The evacuation was only a major hiccup in the long run. If the facility was ever compromised, there were a handful of backup sites with the necessary equipment to continue the work. TE-07 was on route to one such lab right now. 

Having to remove her before reaching full maturity was annoying, but better a half-baked clone in their hands than in the Avengers’. Who knows, perhaps she could even complete the psi-training while out of the pod. If not...well, they would handle the situation as it came.

At the moment, the clone was in the New York office, playing the role of Dr. Rappaccini herself. They’d switched places after her rescue from the Chimera, the doctor giving her a brief overview of what had happened. Beatrice was to hold down the fort and handle things until her return.

Beatrice didn’t mind not knowing where her progeniture was, or what she was up to. She knew that Monica trusted her, valued her. How could she not? The clone had distinguished herself from the others with her deliberate, purposeful usefulness. What did it matter that Monica didn’t tell her everything? What the doctor needed more than anything was control, and sometimes not telling Beatrice things was part of that. The clone did not question or grumble, as Monica always told her what she needed to know.

Deleting the report, Beatrice turned off her tablet. For a moment, she looked at her reflection on screen.

She wasn't wearing the colored contact lens today. She didn't see the point really, as Dr. Rappaccini had the reputation where anyone close enough to notice the discoloration would know better than to ask about it.

She turned the tablet back on, and rose from her office chair. Dr. Rappaccini was a busy woman after all.

* * *

Dr. Julia Kean rose to her feet when Monica entered. The doctor gave a nod of acknowledgement, but remained standing. “Tell me about her. I was told there were complications.”

“Uh, yes,” Dr. Kean flustered, but kept pace. “Things were a bit touch and go there for the first few days, but she seems to be stable now.”

“Seems to?”

“All cognitive and memory tests have come back with flying colors. All physical exams too. She can run a marathon no trouble, swims like she was born to it, and seems to know these labs better than I do.” All good news to hear. As her clones already had her memories, most did not need to be educated so much as reminded. “We’ve just started the exposure tests, but early results are promising. All conventional airborne toxins do nothing, as we expected. She’s immune to the venom of every snake, scorpion or jellyfish we could get our hands on. A huge dose of strychnine in her food and all she does is complain about the taste.”

“Where is she now?”

“In the biology lab. She wanted to take a look at her own cell cultures.”

A natural curiosity and inclination for scientific inquiry. Monica’s concerns were disappearing by the minute. But, she should reserve judgement until she actually gets eyes on her. 

The door opened. Dressed in AIM issue scrubs is her clone, the sleeves of the labcoat rolled up. As Dr. Kean said, she was hunched over a microscope, writing something in a notebook.

“I thought I told you--” she turned around. Mismatched eyes give her a quick once over. “Oh. Dr. Rappaccini, I presume?”

It had been strange, hearing her voice out of someone else’s mouth the first few times. The fact that she was talking to a teenaged version of herself was actually easier.

“Thasanee,” Monica greeted with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

The clone tilted her head, considering, then gave a small nod. As all of the clones referring to themselves as Monica was a recipe for disaster, and calling them by their serial numbers would demean the very DNA they shared, new names were simple practicality. “Well, it’s nice to be seen.” Not the response Monica would have given, but all of her clones had their little harmless quirks. 

“Thank you Doctor Kean. You are dismissed.”

“Ah, yes ma’am.” The door closed behind them with the gentle swoosh, leaving the two women alone in the lab. Neither one moved to speak, each content to simply observe the other for the moment.

Then the moment ended, and Monica decided to get down to business. “I’m placing you in charge of Project Waker. I trust you already know how to access the necessary files.

Thasanee smirked. “I know all the passwords to all the major black list project files as of six months ago, and I know that you’ve likely changed them at least twice since then.” She takes the slide off of the microscope, gently placing it back in a box marked ‘TE-07 blood samples’. “Can’t wait to look over Tarelton’s latest cell biopsies though.”

“You can look them over on your own time. Although, that experiment has been forcibly discontinued.”

“He finally figured it out?”

“Not quite. Stark went snooping around Project Ambrosia, and found the asset. George responded...poorly to the development.”

Thasanee raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s inconvenient. Beatrice or Alison?” There was never a need to pretend with her clones; no masks or carefully cultivated images to maintain. Just engaging with an equal. 

“Beatrice.” An unfortunate but necessary sacrifice. Tarelton would’ve devoted everything he could to hunting her down if she’d simply disappeared. No need to go digging if he thinks he found her. “Also, you should know that it seems the Avengers have decided to make a nuisance of themselves once more and have partnered with the Resistance.”

Thasanee nodded in understanding. “Dr. Kean mentioned as much. While my premature birth was...disconcerting, to say the least, I understand its necessity.” She stood up. “My enhanced abilities are working as anticipated. But with the interrupted psi training, I only know half of the languages, and limited weapons proficiency.”

“How limited?”

“I only have a 60% with firearms accuracy compared to the template. It’s a bit frustrating, but I’m sure I can improve if given the chance. Close quarters is much better, and I seem to have retained most if not all of the martial arts and hand to hand combat.”

The Scientist Supreme nodded. Despite her adolescence, it was clear Thasanee’s mind was unhampered by the more hormonal or emotional reactions that characterized that stage of development. Simply clear-eyed assessment and acceptance of the facts at hand. “Good to know.”

The teenager smiled back. This looked like the beginning of a fruitful partnership.

* * *

**_Later…_ **

“Hey Doctor Pym, I--”

The person in Dr. Pym’s lab was not the former Ant-Man. Kamala knew that because the Resistance leader wasn’t a teenage girl with olive skin and short black hair.

The faintly annoyed expression as the unfamiliar girl looked up from the microscope melted as she registered Kamala’s presence. She wasn’t 

“Ah Ms.Marvel, this is Carmilla Black, the newest member of the Resistance.”

“A pleasure.” There was a niggling sense of familiarity as Kamala shook the other girl’s hand. This close, she couldn’t help but notice Carmilla’s mismatched blue and brown eyes. Neat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla Black is a character from the comics, Monica's biological daughter who she experimented on in the embryo and then later given up for adoption. I've obviously tweaked her backstory just a bit here.
> 
> Special thanks to curlsandblueeyes for being willing to listen to me brainstorm and babble about Carmilla!
> 
> Anyhow, if you have any questions/thoughts/concerns or if you just plain like what you've seen here, comment below and let me know!


End file.
